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Now you can post a story by email
Want to write for the Dew, but get a wee bit intimidated with the post instructions? If you can send an email, now you can submit a story to the Dew.
- You must be registered at LikeTheDew.com
- Using the email address you registered with, send your post to: email@example.com
- Put the title of your post in the subject line (no quote marks or apostrophes allowed).
- Write or paste your story, complete with links, in the body of the email.
- Add photos or videos (for YouTube’s, just include the link URL) you wish included as email attachments.
- If you wish to use photo captions, list them after your story as imagename=’caption’
- Then add a list of keywords, separated by commas.
You’ll get a confirmation email that we received it. We’ll then check out the story for appropriateness, double check how it looks, and will contact you if we have any questions or feel it needs editing. That’s it. So please dew submit.
If you need even more reassurance, contact Lee@LikeTheDew.com
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Harvey was two years old when his mother died. He was the youngest of ten children and had little schooling because his father didn't believe it was important. Harvey's father had arrived from County Cavan about 1858 with his Scottish parents and five siblings as refugees from the famine that had spread across Ireland. He was twenty seven years old when he married for the first time and forty seven when his wife died leaving him with eight children aged between fourteen and two years. He remarried a year later and Harvey and his older sister were products of the Read on →
Saturday, March 28, the day before we laid Mom to rest, was busy. People bringing food, funeral service details, and other matters kept us on the go. Later, as things settled down, I felt the need to spend time alone and the best place to do that was in Double Branches on Aunt Vivian’s farm. It was a beautiful day, the sky a deep blue. As I drove to Double Branches, wonderful childhood memories returned. As a boy, I spent many a day there fishing in the ponds, exploring the pastures and woods, riding an old mule, and playing baseball w Read on →
I have a young friend named Gus. He is in second grade at school, just starting out in life, and doesn’t hold back in letting us know what he is thinking. I have another friend named Gus who is ninety-four and confined to bed in a nursing home. He has dementia, so we don’t know what he is thinking, but he responds with a smile when someone talks to him. My older friend Gus hasn’t met the younger Gus and doesn’t know who I am anymore. When I telephone the nursing home to ask if he needs anything the nurses are rel Read on →
To begin with, we're not talking about that super-smart cartoon dog who had a pet boy, though someone named Sherman does figure prominently in the topic at hand. We’re talking about the other Mr. Peabody, George Foster, namesake of the media awards that the University of Georgia has been handing out since 1941. Submissions to the Peabody competition over the decades have piled up to embody a remarkable collection, some 90,000 kinescopes, 16 mm films, tapes and DVDs, all now stored in a huge, climate controlled grotto beneath the Richard B. Russell Special Collections Library on the UGA campus. For the past year, the Read on →